


Wishful Thinking

by Lbilover



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, M/M, Magic Powers, Rivendell | Imladris, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 01:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11369877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lbilover/pseuds/Lbilover
Summary: When Frodo awakes in Rivendell, he discovers that he can now make wishes come true. Of course, he immediately thinks of Sam...





	Wishful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend, who made this request: _After being stabbed by the Morgul blade, Frodo wakes up in Rivendell and finds that the Elvish healing has given him limited magical powers that he uses to get Sam into his bed._

Frodo discovered the queer change that had come over him quite by accident, during the feast to celebrate his recovery from the knife wound he suffered on Weathertop. Seated atop his mound of cushions next to Glóin at the banquet table, he reached for his wine goblet only to discover that it was now empty.

 _I really wish I could have more wine,_ Frodo thought, but too intimidated to gesture to any of the serving Elves hovering in the background. As luck would have it, however, at that very moment a handsome, dark-haired Elf in trailing green robes approached him.

'More wine?' the Elf politely asked him, holding out a chased silver and cut crystal jug.

'Thank you,' replied Frodo with equal politeness and no little embarrassment at being waited upon by so grand and elegant a figure.

The Elf poured the wine and retreated.

 _Timing is everything,_ thought Frodo, taking up his goblet, and returned his attention to Glóin, who resumed telling him about the time Bombur's chair collapsed under the force of his weight and the subsequent earth-tremour was so strong that Dwarves ran about in a panic thinking that a new dragon had arrived at the Lonely Mountain.

Frodo laughed and stored up the anecdote to tell Sam later. Dear Sam. How disappointed he had been not to be allowed to wait on Frodo during the banquet. But Frodo was delighted to see him being properly honoured, even if he would have preferred that Sam be seated beside him instead of at a side table with Merry and Pippin. Dear Sam, he thought again, and recalled how Sam had taken his hand and stroked it before blushing and turning away. If only he'd known that Frodo would gladly have let him continue to hold it, or even to kiss it - and his lips, too. 

His eyes went to Sam, looking shy but undeniably handsome, and he quite forgot where he was and what Glóin was saying. In fact, Frodo (a little guiltily) wished that Glóin might stop talking, just for a few minutes, so he could sit in silence and contemplate the marvel of hobbity devotion and beauty that was Sam Gamgee. 

'But there,' Glóin said, 'I've been talking your ear off when no doubt you'd rather concentrate on your food.' The Dwarf chuckled. 'I'm forgetting how important meals are to a hobbit.'

'No, no, not at all,' Frodo hastily assured him, afraid that Glóin had somehow intuited his thoughts. 'You were saying-?'

Abashed, Frodo concentrated on being an attentive listener and conversationalist, and resolutely kept his gaze focussed either on his plate or on Glóin. But an uneasy sensation crept over him as the meal went on. Bilbo had used to say that there was no such thing as coincidence, and when twice more Frodo's seemingly innocuous wish-thoughts immediately became reality, he began to wonder if more was at work than a cadre of Elves so well-trained that they could anticipate a guest's needs almost before he himself knew what he wanted. 

Was it, in fact, conceivable that his wishes _were_ being granted? The idea was bizarre beyond belief, but Frodo decided, somewhat sheepishly, to put it to the test.

 _I wish_ , he thought, _that Pippin would get an itch on his nose and scratch it._ To Frodo's astonishment, because he honestly didn't expect it to work, Pippin immediately scrunched up his face and rubbed vigorously at the tip of his pointy nose.

But it had to be coincidence, surely? Perhaps he should try a sterner test, Frodo decided.

 _I wish that Merry would take off his jacket and hang it on the back of his chair,_ he thought. Merry abruptly rose from his chair, scattering cushions right and left, shrugged out of his bottle-green jacket and draped it over the intricately carved wooden back.

When the cushions had been gathered and order restored, Frodo sent another wish: _I wish that Sam would look up and smile at me_. And indeed, hardly had it crossed his mind than Sam glanced over and smiled at Frodo.

 _Well, if that isn't queerer than queer,_ Frodo thought, more than a bit dazed by this strange magic he seemed now to possess. How had it happened and why? A sudden chill touched his heart when he thought of the Ring. Could _it_ be responsible? But no, Frodo had made wishes aplenty in the years and months that he had possessed the Ring, and never before had one come true in such a fashion. 

Besides, it felt queer, but not in an evil way, as surely it would if the Ring were involved. Perhaps it had to do with the Elvish healing that Lord Elrond had given him. Who was to say what effect such healing would have upon a humble hobbit? 

And what, if any, were the limits to his newfound magic? Frodo wondered. If he wished, say, for a fire-breathing dragon to appear inside the banquet hall, would it? Unwilling to put such an extreme wish to the test, instead he thought, _I wish a fireworks dragon would fly into the banquet hall and disappear again._ But this time, nothing happened. It appeared that his magic, or whatever it might be called, was of a lesser variety. 

If so, it was undoubtedly a good thing - although if Frodo could have wished the Ring to fly itself to the Cracks of Doom and throw itself in, he would have. But it seemed he must content himself with making Pippin scratch his nose or Sam smile at him. Or, his mind slyly suggested, perhaps make Sam do something more?

His brain helpfully provided him with a few suggestions, and Frodo blushed. He hoped that Glóin wouldn't notice his suddenly flaming cheeks or would attribute them to the warmth of the room if he did. This wishing business, Frodo realised, could be quite tricky if he weren't careful. Discretion being the better part of valour, he determinedly shoved the discovery to the back of his mind to consider at a later time. 

The banquet came to a close soon thereafter, and Frodo joined the procession following Elrond and Arwen to the Hall of Fire. To Frodo's surprise, Elrond gestured to him and led him over to a small figure wrapped in a dark cloak and seated upon a stool. 

'Bilbo!' cried Frodo in delight when he realised who it was. And it was indeed Bilbo Baggins. Here was yet another, in fact Frodo's greatest, wish come true, but he took no credit for it. If he'd wished to be reunited with Bilbo once since he left the Shire, he'd wished it a thousand times. All thought of queer magical powers, small or large, fled as he and Bilbo settled down to talk as only two hobbits can talk after a long separation. 

It was only later, when Sam came to Bilbo's room to find Frodo and remind him that he needed to rest, that Frodo recalled his newly discovered wish-power. As he and Sam walked side by side through the quiet halls, wishes crowded thick and fast into Frodo's mind, but he refused to let them form fully. It seemed too much like coercion. It was one thing to make Sam smile at him, but to make him... He blushed again.

'Mr. Frodo? Is everything all right?' Sam asked, eyeing him with concern. 'You look awful flushed. You aren't feeling feverish, are you? I can run and fetch Lord Elrond or Gandalf if you like.'

'No, no. I'm quite all right, Sam. Perhaps a little tired, but that's all.' _Not_ that _tired_ , his treacherous brain reminded him. He ignored it. 'Ah, here is my room. Well, good night, Sam. Sleep well and I'll see you in the morning.' Frodo opened the door, slipped quickly inside before he gave into temptation, and closed it right in Sam's startled face.

Brilliant. Now Sam would be _convinced_ that something was wrong with him and probably raise the entire household. _I wish for Sam to become very, very sleepy and to go straight to his room and to sleep._

Frodo had no way of knowing if his wish had been granted, but as Sam didn't return with Elrond, Gandalf and a dozen Elvish healers in tow, he assumed that it had. Ignoring a definite sense of let down, Frodo told himself that he'd behaved rightly, using his wish-power for Sam's benefit and not his own. Dear Sam deserved a night of peaceful, uninterrupted sleep after staying by his side so constantly while he was ill, Frodo thought virtuously as he prepared for bed.

But as he settled down in the too-large bed which required a stool to clamber onto, Frodo discovered that virtue was a very cold bedfellow and not at all snuggly.

~*~

In the aftermath of the Council next day, Frodo was ready to toss virtue to the four winds. He was tired, he was scared, his head ached, and he was very badly in need of a pair of strong arms - _Sam's_ strong arms - to hold him. 

Frodo had meant what he said to Merry and Pippin earlier, that being chosen as Frodo's companion on this hopeless journey was a punishment to poor Sam. What he _should_ wish was for Sam to find a sudden, compelling reason to be at home in the Shire with his gaffer. But there was being virtuous and then there was being foolish, and Frodo, whatever else he might be, was no fool. Wish Sam gone? He could never manage it.

That night, after sitting with Bilbo in his room and helping the old hobbit do some desultory sorting of papers, Frodo again made the trek through the cool, quiet halls to his room with Sam at his side. Sam appeared preoccupied with his own thoughts, no doubt already planning what to bring on the journey, if Frodo knew anything about his gardener. 

When they halted outside his room, Frodo didn't bolt inside and shut the door. _I wish Sam would ask to stay with me,_ he thought.

'I wonder, sir, if I might come in and stay for a bit,' Sam said. 'After what happened at that Council, it don't seem right to be alone, just me and my thoughts. Downright gloomy, if you ask me, and maybe you're feeling the same.'

'I am, and I'd be glad of your company,' Frodo agreed, ignoring a slight stab from his conscience. 'So in you go, Sam,' he said with a smile, holding wide the door.

Sam scuttled through with an alacrity that had Frodo hoping that it wasn't solely because of his wish. After closing the door, Frodo was seized with a sudden panic. What to do next? The bed loomed large in more ways than one, but he couldn't wish for Sam to climb into it and sleep with him. Could he? Drat. 

'These Elves think of everything, don't they?' Sam said, looking around him with approval.

They had been busy in Frodo's absence, starting a cheerful fire on the hearth, turning back the bed covers, plumping up the pillows and laying out the ice-blue silk nightshirt that had been cut down and altered to hobbit-size for him. 

'They even have a warming pan ready, Mr. Frodo. Do you want me to warm the sheets for you?'

_Oh yes, Sam. But I wish you will warm the sheets and me with your very own body. Forget the warming pan._

'Or, I could do it,' Sam offered. 'Elvish beds are grand, but too big for a hobbit alone. Only makes sense to share, if you ask me.'

'Are you sure, Sam?' Frodo's conscience smote him again and he felt he had to offer Sam a way out. 'You don't have a nightshirt.'

'I don't need one,' replied Sam then added matter-of-factly, 'Neither do you, come to that. Be warmer, skin on skin.'

 _This isn't my wish_ , Frodo thought defiantly, as if someone - whoever was responsible for his wishing ability, perhaps - was listening. _It's entirely Sam's idea._

'That's true,' he agreed. 'And you're right about the beds; they weren't made for hobbits. I was very lonely last night.'

'Oh sir, I ought to have to stayed with you, that I ought. I meant to, but I was that tired. I couldn't hardly keep my eyes open, to tell truth, and if I didn't lie down, I'd have gone straight to sleep on my feet!' Frodo tried not to squirm guiltily. And then Sam went on, 'But not tonight, Mr. Frodo.'

 _I do wish Sam would stop calling me 'sir' and 'Mr. Frodo', at least when we're alone together_ , Frodo thought.

'That is to say,' Sam blushed, 'Frodo. Me dear.'

Frodo's sense of guilt was rapidly vanishing. 'Oh Sam,' he said, blushing a little in his turn. 'Shall we go to bed?'

They undressed, blew out the candles, and climbed into the bed - Frodo sneaking as many peeks as he could at Sam's splendid, sturdy naked body during the procedure, while suspecting that Sam was doing some peeking of his own. He certainly hoped so. 

When they were under the covers, lying a chaste foot or so apart, Frodo thought, _I wish Sam would move closer_ , and Sam murmured, 'We ain't going to keep each other warm like this, M- I mean, Frodo,' and closed the gap between them until he was warmly pressed against Frodo's side. 'Better?' he asked softly.

'Oh yes, much,' breathed Frodo, while the most delicious shivers coursed through him. 

They lay in a pregnant silence until Frodo simply couldn't bear it a moment longer. If _something_ didn't happen, and soon, he would surely go mad. But it wouldn't be right to wish it. It was enough to have wished Sam into his bed and beside him. The rest was up to him.

Heart thumping fast, he rallied his courage and said, 'Sam dear, would you very much mind if I kissed you?'

' _Mind?_ ' exclaimed Sam. 'Oh Frodo, I was a-lying here wishing for that very thing!'

'You were?' With a happy sigh, and no sense of guilt, Frodo found Sam's lips with his and kissed him. Soon they were nicely warm, so warm that they had to kick back the covers, and then one thing led to another, and another, until matters came to a very satisfactory, not to mention explosive, conclusion.

~*~

Sam was asleep. But Frodo wasn't ready to sleep himself, not just yet. He wanted to savour the bliss of Sam - warm, naked, possessive Sam - holding him tight in his arms. Hopefully not for the last time, but with their dangerous journey looming ahead, taller and wider than the Misty Mountains, it wouldn't do to take one moment of this joy for granted.

He wondered if their union would have happened anyway, even without the wishes, and concluded that it would have, just not as quickly. And hard on the heels of that thought came another: what use did he have for making wishes come true, when everything he could ever wish for he now had? If it were possible, he would get rid of the unasked-for gift right that very moment. He didn't need or want it.

Hmm, Frodo pondered. Perhaps it _was_ possible. Well, it was certainly worth a try.

 _I wish that I will no longer have the power to make wishes come true._

He waited a few seconds and then thought, _I wish that Sam would wake up._ But Sam didn't wake up; instead, he let out a little snuffling snore against Frodo's neck and snuggled him closer.

Frodo smiled with content.

Wish granted.

~end~


End file.
